Even a strong man can break
by crazycatt71
Summary: A bad case pushed Lestrade to his breaking point.


Greg Lestrade was a strong man. Physically he could hold his own in a brawl and emotionally he could handle things that would bring a weaker person to their knees. But even strong men have their breaking points and Lestrade was afraid this latest case had pushed him to his. With Sherlock's help, they had stopped a child sex ring, but it had taken weeks of endless work with little sleep for all involved and now he couldn't get the images of all those kids out of his mind or stop hearing the details of all of the horrible, brutal things that had been done to them. He sat behind his desk, trying to hold on while John filled out his and Sherlock's reports. He hadn't even realized he had closed his eyes until they flew back open to escape the images playing in his mind.

"Oh, God." he whispered in a broken sob.

John looked up to see Lestrade pale faced and shaking.

"Lestrade," he called, "Greg, are you ok?

When Lestrade didn't respond, John leaned across the desk and touched his arm, causing him to jump and looked around in confusion, before slumping down in the chair, his face in his hands. John looked at Sherlock and mouthed Call Mycroft as he stood up and went around the desk.

"Come on, Greg, let's get you home. "he said, gently pulling the shaking Inspector to his feet.

"Can't, too much to do." Lestrade protested, trying to pull himself together.

"It's late," Sherlock said from his spot by the door, "there is nothing left to do that cannot wait until tomorrow."

Greg gave in and allowed John and Sherlock to lead him out of the building. He managed to hold himself together until they were in a cab, then the shakes took over and he began to sob quietly into his hands. John put his arm around him while Sherlock fidgeted and urged the driver to go faster. Mycroft was waiting in the open doorway when they arrived. Sherlock paid the driver while John guided Lestrade into the house. Mycroft took him into his arms.

"Oh, love, I know it was bad," he soothed, rubbing Lestrade's back as he sobbed against his chest, "those animals will pay, I promise."

John heard the snarl that escaped from Sherlock and turned to look at him. Sherlock's face was a blank mask, but underneath, if you knew what to look for, there was anger, pain, and fatigue. The case had gotten to Sherlock too, he just hadn't broken. Yet, John though as he held his arms open. Sherlock stepped into them, wrapping his own around John, squeezing him tight. John met Mycroft's eyes, when he gestured with his head, he took Sherlock's hand and followed as Mycroft led Lestrade to the bedroom. Quietly, they all undressed and climbed into the bed. Lestrade lay in Mycroft's arms, his whole body trembling as he cried against his chest. Sherlock laid spooned against John's back, arms and legs wrapped around him, his chin resting on his head. John sighed, trying to push all the ugliness out of his mind as he clung to the arms that held him. He knew he'd be seeing all those kids in his nightmares for a long time.

"All those lives, ruined." Sherlock whispered, "I should have solved it faster. I should have known the toy store was the connection sooner."

Lestrade rolled over to face Sherlock.

"No, Sherlock, don't do that," he said, stroking Sherlock's arm, "you did everything you could as fast as you could, we all did."

"You stopped them from hurting any more children." Mycroft said, stroking Sherlock's cheek with one hand as he rubbed Lestrade's back with the other.

"Just think of all those kids who will now grow up to have perfectly normal lives." John said, placing his hand over Lestrade's on Sherlock's arm.

"They might become police inspectors." Lestrade said.

"Or doctors. "John said.

"Or run the British government." Sherlock added.

"Or become consulting detectives." Mycroft suggested.

None of them smiled, but the tension eased. The case would leave scars on their psyches but by offering and taking strength from each other they would be able to go on.


End file.
